


El Salvador, 2000

by MinervaNorth



Series: Leverage International: Europe West [3]
Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 19:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaNorth/pseuds/MinervaNorth
Summary: “I think the next time was two years later. 2000. In Lebanon,” I say. “We had a slight disagreement over some merchandise. I won. But then he kicked my ass in El Salvador later than year, so I guess it was fair.”Charlie Novak crossed paths with Eliot Spencer ten times throughout their lives. Only one led her to meeting Nate Ford.
Series: Leverage International: Europe West [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542628
Kudos: 10





	El Salvador, 2000

**Author's Note:**

> View the photo collage at http://tiny.cc/ElSal.

I lean against the bloody Mayan ruin. The blood is mine, not a qualifier. Eliot got the artifact. He’s long gone now. I don’t even know how long it’s been since he left. I keep slipping in and out of consciousness.

_“Just remember who started this fight,”_ Eliot had said. He’s right. This is me. This was all me. I’m going to die here in El Salvador.

“Eliot Spencer caught up with you, didn’t he?” my employer says in Spanish. “We saw him in Chalchuapa. We knew he was coming for you. And you couldn’t stop him, could you?”

I cough. I try to reach for my ribs, but my wrist is broken, too, and my arm won’t move correctly. Dislocated shoulder, again, probably.

I slip my head back against the stone, closing my eyes. I hear rapid fire Spanish, but don’t translate it in my head.

He threatens me, and I can’t even move. I can’t breathe, either, but that’s beside the point.

A gun cocks. I don’t even open my eyes.

“Listen to me. You’ll never work in El Salvador again. You hear me, bitch? You hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” I say, tasting blood on my lips.

I jump at the sound of the gun going off. I don’t feel it at first, cutting through my leg, but the pain floods me soon, threatening me to pass out.

No. C’mon, Charlie. Come on…

I slip off my button down, my bloody shirt, I slide it around my leg. Tie it around the gunshot wound. You’ve done this before.

Where can I go? Where—

Before I realize it, I’m dragging myself to my feet, staggering, shuffling. There’s got to be somewhere. A hospital, or—or something. It’s too dark to see. Just—just keep moving. Keep moving.

I still taste blood. I don’t think it’s from my lungs. It’s probably from my mouth. I’m hoping it is. Blood from my lungs mean death and soon.

I feel like I’ve been stumbling forever. A white building appears before me. It seems like a mirage, a mirage as the sun goes up. Golden light, a haze that puts a color to the blood all around me. It was grey before. It’s red now.

I stumble up the steps, pushing my way inside the church. Sanctuary. Is that recognized here? I don’t know. I don’t know. I grab onto a pew, my hand slips. I fall onto the stone, back against the pew, hands sliding, spreading blood. A church.

I’m going to die here. With the Mother Mary and the candles and Jesus on a cross above me. I’m going to die here. Not even 24. Didn’t even make it to 24.

My head rests against the hardwood. I don’t have the strength—I just—

“Hey. Hey!”

Someone’s shaking me. I’m shaking too, but someone’s shaking me. When I get my eyes open, I can’t focus, but he’s not from here. He’s white, and seems American. Dark curly hair. Kind eyes.

“You speak English?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good, good,” he says, looking at my leg. He lifts up my shirt, tied around my leg, and shakes his head. “Listen, you got into something here, and if it’s what I think it is, if they find out you’re still alive, they’re gonna make sure you’re not. What’s your name?”  
“Charlie. Charlie Novak.”  
He looks taken aback. “Charlie Novak?”

I nod. “Things went a little off book.”  
“I can see that. I can definitely see that. I’m gonna get you some help,” he says, looking around. He pulls out a cell phone and starts to make a call, speaking in Spanish. I don’t listen. I can’t listen. In fact, I drift again, nearly passing out until he smacks me once more.

“Hey. Don’t lose it, Charlie. We can’t go to a hospital. I called a friend of mine here. We’re gonna take care of you. Can you tell me who did this to you?”

“Which thing?”  
“All of it,” he says, kneeling down. He takes off his jacket—why is he wearing a jacket? It’s so warm—and leans me forward, draping it over me.

“Gun shot was my employer,” I manage. “The rest was Eliot Spencer.”

“Ah, yeah. Spencer is a master at his craft.” He slips his arm around my waist. I cry out, louder than I anticipate. He pushes forward, pulling my arm around his shoulders, and I try to take a step but I immediately collapse. He easily pulls me into his arms. I lull my head against his chest.

“What—what’s your name?” I say, still tasting blood, still feeling my heart beating thready against my broken bones.

“Nate Ford,” he says, bringing me out into the sunlight. “Wanna get back at the guys who did this to you?”

I glance at him. He’s serious. I nod before I pass out.


End file.
